


help

by pinkish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Holding Hands, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkish/pseuds/pinkish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The human body had taken him some time to get used to, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the human mind. He could think something, could know something and still be unable to act on it. It was ... frustrating.</p>
<p>He could feel himself drifting off to sleep when he heard a knock on the door. Cas stayed silent, hoping that whoever it was (Dean) would think Cas was asleep (he wouldn’t).</p>
            </blockquote>





	help

 

Cas sighed as he pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and turned over in bed. He knew that he’d feel better if he got up and went for a run, or had a shower, or just...got up. But the thought of sitting up, much less actually doing anything when he got up was so exhausting that it actually made him physically tired.

The human body had taken him some time to get used to, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the human mind. He could think something, could know something and still be unable to act on it. It was ... frustrating.

He could feel himself drifting off to sleep when he heard a knock on the door. Cas stayed silent, hoping that whoever it was (Dean) would think Cas was asleep (he wouldn’t).

“Cas?” Dean pushed the door open just far enough to peer inside. “You okay? It’s almost dinner-time and you still haven’t left your bed.” Dean paused, waiting for Cas to reply.

Cas turned over again, pulling the covers up over his head as he did.

“Are you sick?” Dean pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside. He hated encroaching on Cas’s space like this, knew just how important it was to have a place that was just...yours, but, well, he was worried. He was really, really worried. Cas had been understandably upset for the first few months after he’d learned that he was stuck on Earth as a human, but recently Cas had shifted from being sad to just being absent. He rarely joined Sam for early morning runs any more (which, alright, neither did Dean, but Dean never enjoyed running -- Cas had always come into the bunker with a huge grin on his face after a run) and it took everything Dean had to convince Cas to eat dinner with them.

“Cas? I’m gonna touch your forehead -- see if you have a fever, okay?” Dean walked over to the bed where Cas was huddled under his blankets.

Cas didn’t reply, but he didn’t turn away from Dean when he reached out to rest the back of his hand on Cas’s forehead. Nothing. Normal.

Dean sat down, more heavily than he’d intended, settling himself on the mattress in the curve of Cas’s body. “Cas,” he began, but didn’t know what to say next -- didn’t know if he could say anything that would help more than hurt, that would make Cas understand that he wanted to help but didn’t know how to offer.

He brought his hand up to Cas’s face again, this time brushing his fingers through the hair falling messily around Cas’s face. Cas opened his eyes in surprise, but closed them again with a sigh when Dean repeated the motion. Dean had been hearing Cas sigh for weeks, months, now, but this sigh felt more like contentment than frustration. Not much more, but enough.

“I don’t know how to help, Cas. I’m sorry.”

Instead of replying, Cas brought his hand out from under his head, where it had been clutching the edge of his blanket and rested it on Dean’s forearm. After a heartbeat, he slid his hand up until he could thread his fingers through Dean’s. He moved their hands so they rested in front of Cas’s face and tightened his grip on Dean’s hand.

“This.”

Dean barely heard it -- it was more of a breath than a whisper and he thought he might have imagined it, but Cas cleared his throat (how long had it been since he’d heard Cas speak? Days? Shit.) and spoke again: “This helps, Dean.”

“But I’m not doing anything,” Dean hadn’t meant to whine, hadn’t meant to show Cas just how upset he was, hadn’t meant to start stroking the back of Cas’s hand with his thumb -- he hadn’t meant to do a lot of things, but here he was, holding Cas’s hand, sitting in his bed and holding back tears.

“You’re here. It helps.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Cas holding onto Dean, eyes still closed, and Dean staring at the hands on the pillow as though one of them wasn’t his own.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean’s hand tightened involuntarily at the words -- angry that Cas felt he had to apologize to him.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He’d said it so forcefully that his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. “Nothing, Cas. You’ve done so much, for me, for Sam, for everyone...for me.”

“You said ‘me’ twice.”

“I know. You’re important to me, Cas. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Cas curled in closer around Dean, pulling their hands towards his face, so close that Dean could feel Cas’s breath against his skin. “But I don’t like being a burden, Dean.”

“You’re never a burden, Cas. Not to me. Not ever.”

Cas didn’t reply, so Dean squeezed his hand, “Got it?”

“Yes.”

Dean went back to stroking Cas’s hand, more comfortable in the silence, now.

“Will you stay?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll stay.”

Cas smiled and Dean held his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling down today and having a hard time getting control over my feelings so I wrote this. It helped a little :)
> 
> Lovely art by grill-me-a-cheese on tumblr (@inspectorbeans on twitter)


End file.
